


Beacon of Hope

by tinypixy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypixy/pseuds/tinypixy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[this takes place after 2x09] After Killian has witnessed Emma's powers he gets reminded of his childhood and his mother's own magic, which leads him to recall about some light as well as dark memories of his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beacon of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> (this has very little dialogue and some violence, you have been warned)

Night had fallen and an icy streak of wind brushed Killian’s cheek, almost cutting his scar for a second time. He clenched his jaw as his eyes peered into the cold darkness while his fingers firmly clung round the wheel. He sailed his ship across unknown waters but that wasn’t the reason why his forehead was wrinkled with the distress of deep thoughts; no, sailing this vessel was as easy for him as breathing. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the Swan girl – Emma. Hours had passed since he had witnessed her powers, since he had seen her protecting her heart against his ally. Killian had just started to part his eyes again, his head still spinning from Emma’s punch, when Cora had caught the corner of his eye. Slowly turning his head, he had been able to see how she forced herself inside of Emma’s chest, ready to rip her beating heart out of her body. Millions of shivers had ran through Killian’s spine at the sight of this awfully familiar scenario. More than two centuries had passed away since the Dark One had killed his beloved Milah, but the pain hadn’t weakened even a little bit. His vision had blurred for a second before a bright white light had bedazzled his eyes, sending him back into unconsciousness. Minutes later Cora had awakened him, telling him that Emma and her mother had escaped through the portal and that they had failed, unknowing of Killian’s backup plan to use the black bean – once useless and desolate - to transport them to another realm, along with his ship, the Jolly Roger.

Now that they were on their way to Storybrooke, Killian’s revenge almost felt within his grasp, yet he couldn’t even acknowledge the thrill of anticipation that was seething inside of his stomach. His thoughts were occupied with Emma and that blinding light that he had seen right before she was supposed to die, just the way Milah did… somehow she had survived, though, and there was only one explanation for that: white magic.

Light and slightly blurred memories flashed in front of his eyes, flickering like the pages of a flip-book. He saw himself, barely four years old, sitting at home with his mother. His big round eyes watching her as she gracefully moved her hand to light the candles in the room. He saw his nan sitting in the corner, grinding herbs and smiling at them while his mother bathed him with hot water coming from a hovering bucket. He saw his mother reading tales to him, the pages flipping without her even touching them once.

Back then, his small self had trouble grasping how his mother was able to do all of those things when he wasn’t, but soon he understood that it was something that was part of her and made her special in ways that he could never be. Later he learned that it was called magic, but when he asked his mother about her unique powers, she simply smiled, telling him he shouldn’t worry about it. It was his nan who told him much later that it was his mother’s magic that caused her to leave his father. It was a loveless marriage and one that was tainted with abuse and addiction. The only way for his mother to protect herself and her children of her drunk and violent husband was to use her magic against him. Everything had changed, though, the day she had almost hurt her oldest son, Liam, during a fight with her boys’ father. She had decided to rather leave the house than ever risk the safety of her children again. She was only able to take Killian with her, though, him being an infant back then, leaving little Liam behind.

Killian remembered his mother’s face very clearly, she always wore a faint smile on her lips that never reached her dolorously blue eyes. Now that he thought about it, he realized how much Milah had reminded him of her. The same black hair, the same strong brows, always gentle, though, always caring. Another twitch ran across his chest before his memories took him away, again.

Usually his nan used to walk him through the woods to pay his father a visit, once a week. Even little Killian knew how much she had loathed him, but she always used to say, that a child should never grow up without a father, nevertheless. His mother didn’t agree with the thought, at first, still scared of the drunken man that used to be her husband, but she gave up on her objections, eventually, due to her mother’s never-ending insistence. This time, though, his nan was called to the King’s castle, for consultation about plants and herbs, as she had told him later, which was why she couldn’t escort her grandson as usual. But little Killian had grown very fond of his brother Liam and he didn’t stop crying until his mother finally agreed to guide him through the woods, herself.

They had done this before, once; one of their neighbors had eaten poisonous fruit and they had called the elderly woman to help him with one of her herbal mixtures. Usually people avoided her, for they feared her and her daughter’s magic, calling them evil witches; but this time they had requested her help and she hadn’t hesitated for even a second before she had offered her aid. His mother had brought him to his father’s house, that day, and she had waited for him, hiding in the woods, until Liam had brought his little brother outside of the house to walk him back to his nan. Killian hadn’t told him that it wasn’t their grandmother that waited for them, since he had promised his mother to keep it a secret. But when Zelda Jones had seen her first son’s face, coming closer to her step by step, Killian noticed how the smile on his mother’s face finally reached her sparkling eyes, for the first time ever. The moment Liam had seen his mother, though, his feet had stopped, unable to move any further. His eyes had gone blank and his hand had loosened his grip from his brother’s fingers. As Killian looked up to him, he noticed tears in his pale eyes. Zelda had taken a step forward to reach for him, but Liam couldn’t take her hand. His feet took him backwards, his head shaking in disbelief. Finally he had turned around, kissing his little brother goodbye before he ran back into his home. Zelda had collapsed that day, her legs not longer able to endure the pressure and the pain.

This time things would be different. Zelda had told her son that he mustn’t tell anyone that she had accompanied him to his father’s house and that he had to leave that place alone, when he was ready to return back home. Killian had nodded, not entirely sure why his mother was so scared of his father anyways. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest person he had ever met, but he had never done him any harm before. Liam usually cooked for them, all three of them eating together before his father returned into his own room, leaving the boys alone for the rest of the day. The brothers would laugh and play, always trying to keep their voices low, though, for his brother had warned Killian to not disturb his father’s sleep.

What happened next is something that Killian would rather not think about. But even if he tried, he couldn’t prevent the memories flashing in his mind, striking him like a thunderbolt at night. He shut his eyes, squeezing them as if he wanted to block it all out, blind himself from seeing the memories in his head, but they were too strong, too vivid.

Killian saw himself, still four years old, blithesome and carefree, strolling through the woods. He held his mother’s hand who taught him how to navigate through the forest; she taught him that he would find moss always on the north side of a tree and that his father lived at the north end of the kingdom; she taught him that if he looked up to the sky during this time of the year, the swans would guide him to the glade; she taught him that if he followed the river, the waters would help him to always find his way back home. The boy smiled, liking the sound of his mother’s voice, not really caring for what she was telling him, anyways. The only thing that mattered to him was that she was there with him, close and near. Then, suddenly, his mother stopped their pace, her eyes wide, her ears harking. Killian looked up to her, surprised by her hesitation to go on. She reminded him of a wolf, he decided, a wolf that is looking for its prey. What Killian didn’t know, though, was that his mother wasn’t hunting but being hunted.

“What is it, mommy?” he asked, his voice carelessly loud.

“Shhhh, Killian, quiet.”

What was that? She turned around, her eyes searching the shadows of the woods.

“Mommy?” His mother’s behavior started to scare Killian, but she only wrapped her fingers around his fragile little hand that much tighter.

“It’s alright, love, it’s probably just a fox,” she smiled at him, the simper not reaching her eyes, yet again.

Killian nodded, the back of his left hand wiping away a tear, before the loudest roar he had ever heard in his entire life made him shiver in fear once again.

“Oh no,” it quietly slipped out of his mother’s mouth. Without hesitating she lifted her four year-old up into a tight embrace and started running.

She hadn’t come very far, though, before an ogre cut their way. Zelda tried to hide behind a tree but the beast saw the black streaks of her hair before they could disappear behind the trunk. Killian heard another roar before his mother started to run again. Being in a tight embrace of his mother, he couldn’t see where she was running but even in this danger Killian felt safe with her. Still, he couldn’t help but firmly grasp her dress with his shaking fingers, his finger nails almost piercing through the fabric. His blue eyes widened to the sight of the monster getting closer, it diminishing the distance between them one ogre-step at a time. Somehow his mother was able to run faster, though, Killian remembered, almost as fast as a bird’s flight, he thought. The boy’s mouth gapped before it turned into a big, bright smile when he saw that the space between them grew bigger and bigger. He felt his mother’s chest quiver for a moment, as he realized that she was laughing. Killian laughed along with her, his voice ringing in Zelda’s ears like the sound of golden bells chiming in the fairy gardens.

And then he felt the fall.

With a hard impact he crashed into his mother. While Killian still tried to understand the situation, Zelda’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the beast running closer to them. She pushed her son behind herself, standing up to shield him from it. What happened next, Killian only remembered as a blur. He remembered his mother raising her hands and white lights appearing in the palms of her hands; he remembered the beast’s roar getting louder with every second that passed; he remembered the lights spreading from her hands like water gushing from a fountain; he remembered the beast getting hit and almost tumbling down; he remembered taking a step forward to see the scene better; he remembered a branch breaking; he remembered a second ogre appearing right next to him; he remembered almost getting hit by its claw; he remembered his mother shooting another ray of light; he remembered the beast’s other claw striking her; he remembered even more light; he remembered her fall.

And then, everything went dark.

-.-.-.-

Early rays of sunlight broke through the small windows of their home, as Killian’s little eyes finally drifted off to sleep. His tiny hands were still holding his mother’s cool fingers, while his head rested at the edge of her bed. He had refused to go to his own bed, terrified she would disappear if he ever let go of her hands again. So his grandmother let him, the lack of sleep and sorrow reflecting in her own eyes, as well. She had been taken care of her, all night, washing and vetting her wounds, trying to keep her warm and hydrated. She had used squashed dandelion roots and mint leaves that she had shaped into bite-sized portions to dip them into herbal tea before she could squeeze them into her daughter’s parted lips. It was a tiring process but the only thing she could really do for her.

-.-.-.-

When Mentha Stone had returned from her duties at the King’s castle, a little earlier than expected, she had decided to meet her daughter and grandson in the woods, for the days were starting to get shorter now and it was known that the woods weren’t the safest place to wander around at this time of the year. She hadn’t been happy about leaving the job of walking Killian to his father to her daughter, but everyone knew that you couldn’t decline a call from the King. He wasn’t the most merciful and he wasn’t exactly understanding and sympathetic, either. He was a selfish King and Mentha hoped for his son, Prince John, to become a better leader, one day. She had crossed the glade and she had passed the river, a weird cloud of uneasiness rising in her stomach. She knew her daughter was perfectly capable of defending herself, if she had to, but she also knew that Zelda had stopped practicing her magic outside of the house since she had left her former husband for good. She hadn’t been the same since that day and neither had her magic. Only in the presence of her little son she was able to use it within the household, always careful with her spells, though. She never used anything that could endanger the safety of her boy, not after what happened with Liam.

Yes, Mentha knew what her daughter was still capable of but she also knew that magic got weaker, if you stopped practicing; if you stopped believing in yourself. Maybe that was exactly the reason she dared to use it while Killian was around; because he believed in her. His bright blue eyes always admired his mother’s spells, persistently encouraging her to show him some more of her specialty. Neither of her grandsons had inherited their mother’s gift, yet none of them had ever feared it; until the day of the big fight, that is. One of Zelda’s spells had almost hurt her oldest son, leaving him unable to forgive her ever since. Killian was different, though. He had always been interested in magic, the spells enchanting his very being with adoration and amazement. His mother was his role model, his idol, his hero. There was nothing she couldn’t do, nothing she couldn’t handle. It was admiration at the highest level and Mentha could see it all over her grandson’s face. She never thought of it as jealousy, though. The boy was a lot of things but not unfair; he had a tender and true heart and he would never begrudge somebody something as long as he thought that they deserved what they had. It never stopped to amaze Mentha how precocious the boy already was. A soft smile ran across her lips, thinking about it while she was still walking through the faint light of the woods. Then she heard the roar.

Mentha’s eyes widened, her blood freezing in her veins. Without even thinking about it, she started to run. She didn’t know where she was running to, but that didn’t prevent her from running just that much faster. The forest was large and they could’ve been everywhere, but Mentha simply hoped that they would be anywhere close to the path they usually took. While she ran, she felt her old legs protesting against the sudden strain and her lungs almost surrendering, not able to function the way Mentha needed them to. If she knew exactly where her daughter and her grandson were, she could simply apparate herself to their location, but she had no idea where that would be. Suddenly, a white light beam appeared at the sky.

“That’s her,” Mentha whispered to herself. Whatever Zelda was fighting, she must’ve missed the target, she figured. Mentha clenched her fists, her nostrils widened, disappearing in a mint green cloud. She managed to emerge somewhere close to her family, still uncertain about their exact location. Her eyes searched the woods, widened in panic yet her pupils small as pencil-dots, unable to find any sign of her loved ones. Then she remembered the napkin in her pocket. It used to be Zelda’s but she had taken it with her when she had left to see the King.

“A locator spell!” This was her only option, she decided, before she spoke the words to enchant the piece of fabric. The napkin immediately started to hover above her hand, then moving towards the east of the woods. Slowly it increased its speed, which was a good thing, Mentha recalled, since enchanted objects would go faster the closer they got to their owners. The elderly woman had trouble tracking the napkin that flew quicker with every second that passed. Then a second light beam appeared, but this time it was right in front of her, barely a hundred feet away. Within the next second she disappeared in green fog, yet again, missing another ear-piercing roar.

When Mentha appeared at the fight scene, she had almost been too late already. She saw her grandson watching his mother, his eyes as big as usual, taking a step forward to see her better, yet missing the ogre that appeared right next to him. When he finally realized what happened, the beast raised its claw to hit the little boy but Zelda as well as Mentha both shot a fatal spell right at the same time that hit the ogre in the middle of its chest, crucially disturbing its balance. While it was falling, a quick smile had appeared on Zelda’s lips who had recognized her mother’s mint green magic spell, but before she could even move to look over her shoulder the ogre struck her with its other claw. They both fell simultaneously, both hitting the hard ground soon. Mentha had missed her daughter’s misfortune for she had dealt with the second beast, believing that the other one was dead already. When she turned around, both beasts defeated now, she found her daughter lying on the ground, motionless. 

Mentha ran to her, immediately, little Killian by his mother’s side already, and she apparated them home. To her greatest relief, her daughter was still alive when they appeared inside of the house at the south side of the woods. Her wounds were too deep, too fatal, though; Mentha knew that she wouldn’t have long now. And there was nothing she could do. Her eyes were red and her chest ached at the thought of not being able to stop her pain; of losing her. What hurt the most, though, was to watch the little boy. His determination to not let go of her hand, his will to stand by her, no matter what, broke his grandmother’s heart.

-.-.-.-

As the sunlight touched Zelda’s pale skin, she feebly squeezed Killian’s hand, her slotted eyes staring at him. The boy woke up in an instant, rubbing his eyes with the back of his other hand. As soon as he realized that his mother was looking at him, that she had finally woken up, a bright smile lightened up is young face, his blue eyes sparkling with joy. He turned around immediately, his hand never letting go of his mother’s, though, opening his mouth to call for his nan. But before his vocal chords could even form a syllable, his mother squeezed his hand, yet again. Killian returned his head to her, his smile slowly fading as he realized that she wasn’t doing as good as he hoped she would. She didn’t say a word but Killian understood what her eyes were telling him. He moved closer to her, his ear almost touching her cracked lips. He felt her weak breath against his skin, eagerly waiting for her to speak. Zelda opened her dry mouth, a whisper floating into Killian’s ear.

“Go… go to your… brother… and don’t leave… his side… be… a good boy... promise me…”

“I promise,” Killian whispered back, not noticing his mother’s cold hand letting go of his. But when he slowly returned his head from her lips, he saw the blankness in her eyes. Even though Killian didn’t understand what it meant, he still knew something was wrong. His left hand went to her shoulder, shaking it a little.

“Mommy?” he whispered again. Then he shook her again, a little harder now.

“Mommy!” his voice rose a bit. Killian shook and shook, but she didn’t wake up. His ears heard the sound of glass breaking and he felt the presence of his grandmother behind him, holding him as tight as she had ever held him. He heard her cry, felt her hot tears touching the bare skin of his neck and then he realized… she was gone.

-.-.-.-

Killian opened his eyes, the wind howling in the distance. Weeks had passed since they had arrived in Storybrooke, but he had set his sails to leave this accursed land, again. His eyeballs were bloodlined as he watched the magical bean in his hand, reminding him of everything that he had lost. No matter how much time had passed, the wounds from his past still lingered in the depth of his heart. But it weren’t only those wounds that caused him great amounts of pain, but also the thought about his broken promises.

He genuinely had tried to keep them, but life had other plans for him, he figured. Killian tried to shut out the memories, again, but he couldn’t stop them from appearing in his head…

A few days after the promise, his nan had spread his mother’s ashes all over the light-flooded glade. Killian had decided to move back to his father and even though his grandmother had protested, Killian had been determined to go. When he had arrived, Liam had been grateful to have someone to share his grief with.

One day when their father had been late for dinner, yet again, Liam had told his little brother that he had wished his mother had taken him with her the day she had left that house. It was that moment that Killian had realized that Liam had never been angry with his mother for almost hurting him but for leaving him. Zelda’s self-hatred had made him believe that his brother had been scared of their mother’s powers, when in reality he had been nothing but a lonely and deeply disappointed boy. When his father had returned home that day, awfully drunk as ever, the boys had noticed his terrible mood in an instant. It turned out that he had lost most of his money during a game in the tavern and he had spent the rest of his coins on alcohol, as usual. His anger about that situation had turned to his sons, though, when he had realized that they hadn’t waited for him with dinner. Liam had told Killian to hide under the table while their father had started to smash anything that he could find against the wooden walls of their home.

Killian remembered their yelling and he remembered pieces of glass sparkling on the ground. He remembered seeing his brother land against the opposite wall and his father’s feet coming closer to the table. His huge hands had grabbed the boy and he had lifted him, their foreheads almost touching. He had yelled at him for minutes before he had thrown him to the ground. Then he had heard the door slamming with a loud noise. Killian had gotten up, slowly, feeling a hot wetness on his right cheek. His first instinct, though, was to look for his brother. Liam was still leaning against the wall, his eyes sad and apologetic. Then he forced himself to smile, lifting his right arm to encourage his little brother to come closer. Killian had run to him, hugging his brother while burying his face against his chest. Liam had promised him that day that everything would be better one day; he had promised that he would take care of him, no matter what. And Killian had believed it.

He had never told his brother about his own promises to his mother, though, keeping it inside of his heart forever. Besides, he wasn’t sure about Liam’s reaction about it, so he rather didn’t want to talk about his mother’s death. Killian had blamed himself. He still did. He knew that his mother would’ve survived if it hadn’t been for him; he knew she would’ve defeated the monsters, if he hadn’t messed it up. And he knew she wouldn’t have been in the woods with him, if he hadn’t insisted on visiting his father, in the first place. Her magic had been strong enough, he was certain of that. Without her gift, they both would have died that day and there was nothing he admired more in this world than people who contained that kind of power within themselves.

Killian had failed his mother, though, and it haunted him every single day. Even though he went to his brother and stood by his side, he couldn’t have saved him, eventually; and even though he tried to be a good and honorable man, he still became this evil mess that he was today. He hated himself for everything that he had become; for everything his mother never wanted him to be. Killian took a deep breath, the icy air piercing his lungs. But then, suddenly, the images of his mother shooting a beacon of light and the Swan girl defeating Cora flickered in his head, blending into each other for only a second.

Killian felt an unexpected warmth flaring up inside of his chest, the images faded away already. As he watched the early north-star sparkling in the blue sky, he realized that he hadn’t felt this special kind of heat in decades, or centuries even. He couldn’t return in time and undo the things he had done, but maybe he could keep at least a single part of his promise and try to be a better man again. Not today, but maybe someday, he figured… he would’ve changed for Bae, why wouldn’t he be able to change now, he asked himself. He knew there was only one way to find out if he was really capable of leaving his past behind; he had to return back to Storybrooke; he had to return back to Emma.

And while his Hook turned the vessel’s wheel around, he began to realize the reason of the warmth that was growing inside of him and finally he could name it: it was hope.


End file.
